


A Handy Distraction

by mizmahlia



Category: Young Justice
Genre: F/M, Gen, LONGSHOT!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-06
Updated: 2013-03-06
Packaged: 2017-12-04 12:12:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/710662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizmahlia/pseuds/mizmahlia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Artemis gets some unwelcome one-on-one advice from her least favorite archer and has a *really* hard time concentrating. Embarrassment and humor ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Handy Distraction

The first thing she notices is just how _close_ he's standing. He's seriously invading her personal space.

Not that she minds.

She does as he instructs and draws the bow string back. Her elbow gently nudges him in the chest, backing him off a bit. The heat radiating between them dissipates as he backs away and she frowns.

Finally able to focus properly she exhales. The arrow flies, hitting the target about two inches from the center. _He_ would have nailed the bullseye. She grits her teeth, ready for a lecture. Her shots were way off lately and Green Arrow had called Roy to come in and help her figure out what's wrong. Green Arrow wasn't getting through to her and thought Roy could be of some assistance. Needless to say, Artemis _wasn't_ happy about that decision.

"Here, let me see it."

He takes the bow from her and starts adjusting it, not saying another word. Apparently he's in a good mood and isn't going to be so snarky today. She cocks her head to the side as she stares at his hands.

She can't believe it.

Roy has the most insanely beautiful hands she's ever seen.

His palms are large, smooth and almost square. His fingers are long. She watches as they nimbly adjust one of the stabilizers on the bow, the movements graceful, fluid.

He looks up at her and holds out a hand.

"Can I see one of your arrows?"

All she can manage is a nod and draws one from her quiver, handing it to him. He guides the arrow in and draws his arm back in one quick motion. She steps to the side to observe and can't help but continue to stare.

The gloves he wears fit like a second skin, the black leather molding to the shape of his hands perfectly. She glances down at her own for a moment, seeing the callouses and the rough spots she has from not wearing gloves. Flexing her fingers and turning her hands over to look at her palms, she suddenly notices how shabby her hands look. She shoves them in her pockets self-consciously.

He releases the string, the arrow striking the target dead center. She sighs quietly.

"I think that adjustment took care of your problem," he said, handing the bow back to her. "Give it another try."

She grips her bow firmly and guides the arrow into place. As she raises her arms to take her shot, he again steps _way_ too close behind her using his own arms to show her how another way to hold her bow, his chest against her shoulders. She can feel his voice vibrate in his chest as he talks.

She tunes him out and resumes studying his hands. His fingers have no scars and neither do his knuckles. He obviously hasn't ever broken a finger since all ten are perfectly straight. His hands being in such a condition surprises her; he excels at hand-to-hand combat and she assumes he would have injured himself at one point.

Even though he's shooting left-handed, his movements look natural. The index and middle fingers curve around the bow string and gently tug it back. She manages to nod and he steps back, his arms no longer around her shoulders. Slowly she draws the string, exhales and releases it. The arrow hits the target, knocking Roy's arrow to the floor. She turns to him, smiling, to see him nod in approval.

"Well done. I'm impressed." He removes his gloves and the bracer from his arm, setting them down next to his own bow. "Come here, I want to see something."

She lays her bow on another table and approaches, unsure of what he's doing. He holds out his hands, motioning for her to show him hers.

He takes her left hand, her shooting hand, and notices a couple of callouses. Turning it over, he runs his fingers over hers, stroking her palm. She swallows hard.

"You know, you should really think about wearing gloves. Prevents the callouses that screw up your shot." He looks at her, she's staring at his hands again. "Ever tried wearing gloves?"

"Uh, sorry. What?" She looks up at him, distracted once again by his hands and the way they're touching hers.

"Gloves. You should wear them. They protect your hands. You should know how important that is."

"Never thought about it, I guess."

"I'll have to get you a pair. The woman who makes mine can make a pair for you. Let me see your hands again."

He holds up his hand to hers, their palms flat against each other. Before she realizes what she's doing, her fingers gently curl and wrap themselves around his. His hands are soft and smooth and warm. He mirrors her action, a smirk twitching at his lips when he realizes how nervous she is at their close proximity.

Closing her eyes, she takes a deep breath to calm herself. The air had become stifling, humid, as if she were standing in a South American jungle instead of the training room.

"I didn't realize you were into holding hands, Artemis. Last time I checked we weren't in junior high." As he speaks she startles and tugs her hand back like she's been burned, a furious pink blush rising on her cheeks.

"I.. it's just.. your hands," she mumbles. "They're so.. perfect. It's weird."

Roy turns away quickly to smother a laugh and she's grateful for the distraction.

"The gloves should be ready next week. Think you can make do until then?" He puts his gloves on, then picks up his bow and his arrows. The distance between them clears her head and she can finally think straight again.

"Psh. Of course. I'll be fine." She tosses her blonde ponytail back over her shoulder.

"Good." He starts to leave, then hesitates for a second. "You know, you're adorable when you blush like that," he calls over his shoulder. "See you next week."

With a huff she picks up her bow, whips out an arrow and lets it fly carelessly. It misses the target completely and embeds itself in the wall behind it.

"Son of a bitch," she mutters, crossing her arms over her chest. "That is _totally_ not fair."


End file.
